


Three's Not a Crowd

by circ_bamboo



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always the Opposite Sex, Genderswap, Multi, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-22
Updated: 2011-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-23 23:03:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/circ_bamboo/pseuds/circ_bamboo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pike, One, and always-a-ciswoman Philippa Boyce. And some cheesy terms of endearment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three's Not a Crowd

**Author's Note:**

  * For [echoinautumn (maybetwice)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetwice/gifts).



If one was going to have a threesome aboard a starship, it was only convenient to include the captain. His bed was the largest on the ship other than the VIP suites; even though it was perhaps only double the size of a standard bunk, it still fit two adult human(ish) women and a human man better than any of the other options. Besides, Philippa Boyce was too goddamn old to be rolling around on the floor.

Even if she wasn't currently 'rolling around on the floor' so much as 'buried facedown in the ship's first officer,' her hands propping Number One's rear end just far enough in the air to get a better angle.

And saying that Chris was included just to get to his bed was also a load of bullshit; if anyone was the 'added' element here, it was Phil herself. She'd stopped by Chris's quarters some time ago for reasons that had nothing to do with sex, and One had been there as well. After One had delivered some sort of strange speech about chain of command and stress relief and statistical evidence that made her sound like a Vulcan, Chris had cut to the chase and said, "Phil. We want you."

She'd looked down at herself for a moment in disbelief. "Me?" She was over fifty, a full ten years older than Chris, and not, you know, genetically _perfect_ like some other women in the room. But all of a sudden One was kissing her and Chris's hands were on her. And what did you know, three months later Phil had her tongue on One's clit for about the hundredth time and Chris had his tongue on One's breasts and the XO was moaning under them.

Phil dug her nails lightly into One's skin and rolled her eyes up; Chris had moved upwards, his mouth just above One's collarbone, thumb and forefinger now rolling One's nipple even as the side of his hand cupped her breast. She smiled, removed a hand over to run her nails lightly along Chris's ribs, and pulled back before his slap could make contact.

It wasn't always the three of them all the time; sometimes it was Chris in Phil while One had the bridge, and sometimes it was One's mouth on Phil's skin, and sometimes it was Chris and One, and Phil didn't ask what they did when she wasn't there because it was none of her business, really. Although she thought about it sometimes. (Who wouldn't?) Did she pin Chris down and ride him? Did One sink to her knees in front of him, the way she'd done to Phil in the shower one highly memorable time?

Phil sighed, and her rhythm slipped. One pressed a heel into Phil's side, not hard, just enough to remind her that there were _things_ she was supposed to be doing. Chuckling, she pushed a finger of her free hand inside One, and then a second when she felt One quiver. If Chris hadn't been so close, rubbing his leg against Phil's hip and stroking his fingers through Phil's hair occasionally, she might have forgotten he was there. Except, of course, he was Christopher Pike and nearly impossible to forget. Ever.

A moment later she felt another finger alongside hers inside One; Chris’s, of course. She folded her middle finger back into her hand and let her index finger work in tandem with his for a minute or so before sliding out and letting him take over the penetration. The side and heel of his hand bumped her chin occasionally, but she ignored it, let it blend into the whole glut of sensation. She inhaled deeply through her nose and sucked a little harder, a little wetter, a little messier.

One’s hand in Phil’s hair clenched rhythmically until all of a sudden it didn’t―until all her muscles tensed and she held her breath. Phil knew that if she changed a single thing at that moment One would threaten her life so she didn’t, just kept going until One _came_ , shaking and sighing and finally letting _go_.

Chris slid his fingers out of One; before he could wipe them on the sheets, Phil grabbed his wrist and sucked them into her mouth. He groaned, and she grinned, teasing him with her tongue as if his fingers were his cock. Her jaw was tired, but she kept it up long enough to distract him so that she could push him down to the mattress, next to One.

To be fair, he went willingly; if she’d asked or suggested it, he would have rolled onto his back without a protest. It was more fun to manhandle him, so she did, swinging one leg to sit astride him. She reached one hand back and maneuvered him into place so she could sink onto him, already wet from earlier foreplay and the taste of One still on her tongue.

"Oh," Phil said, as her rear met his hips, and Chris laughed. Even One smiled, and she was still wiped out, muscles lax, limbs splayed over her half of the bed.

"Glad I could entertain," Phil said, not actually annoyed, and lifted herself up and sank back down.

Chris’s eyes shut, and he raised his hands to her hips, not guiding her but holding on.

She found a rhythm fairly easily; the right angle shortly thereafter. By then, One had roused enough to drape herself over Chris’s shoulder. Phil watched her nibble the side of his neck as one of her hands slid down his chest, finding a nipple and tweaking, and following the shallow dent in the midline of his chest down his abdomen to his navel. Her fingers trailed past, to where his body disappeared into Phil’s.

Chris groaned, and Phil closed her eyes, feeling One’s fingers find her clit and stroke. She shifted her hips and tightened around Chris as best she could before looking down at his face.

Oh, he was _beautiful_. And hell, One was beautiful, and watching them kiss―as they were, when she opened her eyes―was beautiful. She'd mostly gotten over the fear―knowledge―that she was nowhere near the prettiest person in this bed, relationship, whatever they were calling it. Once in a while, though, she'd see them, individually or together, and a pang of _something_ would go through her. It wasn't quite jealousy, but it wasn't _not_ jealousy, either.

She reached down to trace a finger along the side of Chris's face, down his neck, and he broke the kiss with One to look up at her, smiling. One's fingers sped up, adding a little more pressure, and Phil gasped, losing her rhythm briefly. She looked at One and saw a small, satisfied smile on her face.

"You―have my―attention," she said, gasping, and closed her eyes again. This was _not_ the point to get distracted.

Of course, not being able to see didn't mean she couldn't hear―couldn't hear Chris groaning under her, couldn't hear the sounds of all three of them together. It didn't mean she couldn't smell the salt and musk and sweat and sex all around her; it didn't mean she couldn't feel the muscles in Chris's thighs tightening under her, or One's sweat-slicked skin up against her calf.

And it was all those things―and, of course, One's fingers and Chris's cock and her own movements―that caused the heat to focus into a single, bright point, and then expand in a rush through her entire body. Phil shuddered and gasped for air, reaching for whatever part of them she could find, and getting a hand and a forearm. She hung there a moment, eyes still closed, and just breathed and _savored_.

A moment later, though, Chris nudged her gently with his hips, and she chuckled, still a little breathless. "Yeah, all right," she said. "Like this okay?"

"Sweetheart," he said, and she'd only let him get away with that crap post-her own orgasm, "right now, any position would work."

Phil laughed again, for real this time, and Chris groaned, twitching inside her. She let go of his forearm and One's hand and leaned forward, weight on her fists. Her mouth only a couple inches from his, she said, "Do your best, sunshine."

She could feel One laugh silently, still tucked against their sides, fingers still between their bodies. Chris pushed up, though, and she lost track of One, could only see the dark gray-blue of his eyes as he caught and held her gaze.

He closed his eyes at the very last moment, as he always did, and finished with a last, hard thrust and a heartfelt, "Oh, god, _Phil_."

He was always good at calling out the right name, if there was a right name to call out. Still, though, she never expected it, and it was a joy to hear. She smiled, and watched his throat work as he swallowed, eyelids fluttering, obviously trying to remember how to breathe.

Unfortunately, though, her left ankle, the one she'd broken back when she'd been on the _Exeter_ that had not taken the osteoregen very well, was complaining about the position. She leaned down for one last kiss, a little sloppy due to Chris's distraction, and rolled off, onto her side, mirroring One.

She flexed her foot a few times as she tucked herself into Chris's side, but then pushed up on one arm to lean over and kiss One.

"Mmm," One said, one hand behind Phil's head. "Nice."

"Yes," Phil agreed, and returned to her position on her side. She twined her fingers with One's over Chris's navel, and closed her eyes.

"Night," Chris said, and Phil echoed him.

"Good night," One said, and added, "sunshine."

Chris huffed a quiet laugh, and Phil smiled.


End file.
